Day 43 -- Gordonsville to Front Royal, Virginia -- 65 Miles

Today, even though it was raining as usual, we decided to do something Presidential. We figured a nice indoor excursion would suit us just fine, so we set our course for the James Madison home and museum that the guidebook told us was just down the road from our camp.

If you read yesterday's blog, you know that we crashed an exclusive timeshare resort and prevailed upon them to give as a nice lake-side spot for the evening. This morning, just as Savannah had promised, they called from the resort and asked if we would like a 2:15 p.m. tour of the timeshare grounds. If we would consent to listen to their spiel, they promised to either give us a free $150.00 balance on a credit card, OR they'd give us $125.00 credit card and seven free nights in the campground.

While I was listening to the timeshare lady on the phone, I was watching the water drip off the surrounding leaves. The rain had been falling heavily since the previous evening and it had only just tapered off when I came out to coil up the hoses. Drip Drip Drip, there was water EVERYWHERE. "Well," the timeshare lady said, "What do you think?"

I paused, searching for just the proper words so I didn't offend her. Thankfully I wasn't talking to the young black woman from yesterday to whom I had taken such a liking. "I tell you what," I said. "I'll talk it over with my wife and if we decide to get in on the 2:15 tour, I'll call you back in just a few minutes."

"Okay," she said, not sounding like she actually expected me to take her up on her offer, "but don't forget I only have one spot left for the tour."

I told her I wouldn't forget and rang off. Although I have had friends and relatives who spoke highly of their timeshare purchases, in my opinion timeshares were much like boats. Your happiest days with either are when you buy them, and when you sell them. Except I think it's a lot easier to sell a boat than a timeshare.

So, with the GPS primed and ready to lead us to President James Madison's home, we set off in the drizzling rain toward the small town of Orange. We had a very nice ride through the wet, rolling fields of northern Virgina and passed through several small villages of a few hundred residents each. It's hard to imagine anyplace more beautiful. Tree covered, and prosperous-looking, it's no wonder that so many Federal career soldiers, who were born in the tenth state of the Union, decided to fight for their home state rather than remain in the Union army during the Civil War.

About 10:30 the GPS announced that we had arrived at our destination. We pulled into a small parking lot and looked around. The only structure anywhere near us was a small railroad station which, a nearby sign proclaimed, had been built in 1910. I asked Concetta to plug in the Madison estate's address again. But the GPS declared that we'd already arrived there. With a shrug, I got out of the truck and walked over to the station.

The closer I got to the station the more I realized how cute it was. I reversed my steps and went back to the rig to retrieve my camera. This time as I approached I saw that half of the station was a post office, and the other half was a museum of sorts. The museum didn't look open (it actually was), so I opted for the post office.

"Happens all the time," the post office clerk said when I had explained our predicament.

"But the address is dead on," I said.

The clerk nodded. "They just haven't gotten all the guide books corrected since they put in the new million-dollar bridge. She said that last part about the bridge as if she didn't wholly approve of spending that much to get a road over the railroad tracks so visitors could visit a dead President. She went on. "Just go back the way you came until you get to the next driveway south of here. Turn left there and follow the signs."

We did as she suggested and soon found ourselves on one of the longest driveways we've ever seen. It wound around through a forest of trees and small meadows for what seemed like a quarter hour, but I'm sure was shorter. Eventually, we found the parking lot and a not-so-level place to park. I always try to find level so the fridge is the happiest, but this time there just didn't seem to be a level spot, unless we wanted to get much further away, off the blacktop, and onto a rough gravel lot to the east. We figured we'd risk the fridge and maybe stay a tad more dry in our dash from rig to building.

Concetta and I have been trying to challenge each other to pursue educational opportunities that we have passed up in our younger days. President James Madison seemed to fit that bill exactly. Before today, had we been challenged to think of something Madison was known for, we both would have had an extremely difficult time coming up with anything noteworthy about our fourth President. Today we gained a whole new respect for the man who, we learned, is known for being the father of our Constitution, as well as the architect of the Bill of Rights.

From Wikipedia we learned that: "In 1789, Madison became a leader in the new House of Representatives, drafting many basic laws. He is noted for drafting the first ten amendments to the Constitution, and thus is known also as the "Father of the Bill of Rights". He worked closely with President George Washington to organize the new federal government. Breaking with Hamilton and the Federalist Party in 1791, he and Thomas Jefferson organized the Democratic-Republican Party. In response to the Alien and Sedition Acts, Jefferson and Madison drafted the Kentucky and Virginia Resolutions arguing that states can nullify unconstitutional laws."

"As Jefferson's Secretary of State (1801–09), Madison supervised the Louisiana Purchase, which doubled the nation's size. Madison succeeded Jefferson as President in 1809, was re-elected in 1813, and presided over renewed prosperity for several years."

"After the failure of diplomatic protests and a trade embargo against the United Kingdom, he led the U.S. into the War of 1812. The war was an administrative morass, as the United States had neither a strong army nor financial system. As a result, Madison afterward supported a stronger national government and a strong military, as well as the national bank, which he had long opposed."

It was still raining when we made our way out of the small theater, where we'd watched a short film on Madison's life, and started the long trek across the soggy grounds to the President's life-long home and "workshop" where he'd done his writing and studying before helping to frame our country's government, a government that has lasted now for over two centuries. The grounds, which were later owned and maintained by the DuPont family, the last private owners, are just breathtaking. Nothing but tree-covered glades and gently-rolling grasslands as far as you can see. We got a little wet, but the walk turned out to be worth the discomfort.

The house, built in 1760, started out as a simple affair, actually designed as a duplex in its earliest rendition, so that James Madison senior and his wife could be in one half, and James Madison junior and his wife Dolly (Todd) Madison could live in the other half. After James Madison senior died, the future President's mother still lived in half the house, but James junior began to enlarge and upgrade the house to more effectively reflect his continually improving station in life. In this period the house gained more square footage in the form of additions on both sides, as well as a more regal entrance. Later on the DuPont family would more than double the size of the house, but when the National Trust for Historic Preservation gained ownership, the DuPont family additions were removed.

The house we entered today was restored to the period of James Madison's Presidency. Once again, photographs were not allowed. Though I was just itching to shoot something surreptitiously, I didn't do it. I would have loved to show you just what the interior looked like. Though James had very conservative tastes, the same could not be said for the First Lady. I remember the dining room for it's spectacular green and white wallpaper full of floral designs, as well as all the tufted furniture in flashing emerald and gold. The drawing room had a deep red flocked wallpaper that covered the walls all the way to the 12-foot ceiling. Huge paintings of Greek heroes and beautiful maidens adorned the walls around us.

After our tour of the mansion we retreated back to the RV and had our lunch. Then we set our course for the town of Front Royal where we hoped to find a vacancy in the local KOA campground. But had we much more time, and had the weather been more conducive to outdoor activities, there is a tremendous number of

things to see and do while you're visiting the Madison estate. There is an archaeology lab nearby that you can tour and watch the study of things found on the estate grounds. Over by the depot that we visited earlier in the day, there is the reconstructed cabin of a one-time black slave from the Madison estate, but who eventually lived nearby as a freedman. There is a formal garden that was constructed by the DuPont family. And there are over three miles of hiking/walking trails where you can visit, among other places, the original site of the Madison family log cabin and the Madison family cemetery where three generations of Madisons are buried.

In addition to all the historic sights, there is a simply fabulous visitor center which contains a theater, a large book collection to tempt you, the usual patriotic souvenirs, some locally made items including jams and wines, and a rather nice cafeteria when you don't happen to have an RV along for your lunch. Concetta couldn't resist a newly released book on Madison, and I found an irresistible entitled, "Lost Crafts," which I hope will teach me even more about the crafts and crafts people we saw at Colonial Williamsburg.

We were a little disappointed with the KOA here in Front Royal. The place sort of looks like the last work that was done on the camp was a couple of decades ago. All the sites need fresh gravel, the electrical tower needs refurbishment, and the sewer line appears to be overly small for the job. The grounds are more weeds than grass, the roads are made up of disintegrating asphalt, and the "store" is shabby and sort of junked up with unnecessary detritus. Other than that, we got hooked up okay, and since we're only staying here one night, we don't really care if they take good care of the camp or not. Right now we are the only "over-nighter" here. Everyone else is a long-term resident. KOA should probably come and give this camp the once-over.

But don't let the occasional run-down camp dampen your enthusiasm for travel. Overall, most camps are pretty darn good. So get out there and experience a few of those places you've been meaning to see all your life. You're not getting any younger. Until we meet again, we wish you Happy Travels!

Day 42 -- Williamsburg to Gordonsville, Virginia -- 117 Miles

Today didn't turn out anything like we envisioned. As usual we got up this morning knowing we were leaving Williamsburg, Virginia, but not having any idea what direction we would be taking, nor where we might be camping next. Once I sat down with the map, after breakfast and just before we were to roll out, I decided that perhaps we could go north on Interstate 64 until we hit Virginia Route 33. From Route 33 we jog a little to the northeast, then take Route 17 towards Fredericksburg. If we took Interstate 64 all the way to Richmond, I reasoned, we would be battling pretty heavy traffic all the way. But if we took the Route 33 turnoff, we'd be on rural roads for most of the day.

With that tentative plan in mind, we got rolling about 10:00 a.m., about an hour later then usual, and were soon charging northwest on Intestate 64. That's when two things happened. First, we started talking about the fact that we had never done any sightseeing in Richmond and there certainly must be a few things worth seeing there. And then I realized, as we approached our turnoff for Route 33, that we had taken that precise route last time we were in Willimasburg, presumably for the same reasons.

Well that did it. Concetta started looking up attractions on her IPhone and I zoomed right on by Route 33 as we headed into the mythic heart of the southern Confederacy, Richmond, Virginia. It didn't take long before we decided that the most fitting thing to do in Richmond, was visit the site of the Southern White House during the Civil War. That's where Jeff Davis (no relation) made his home, and that's perhaps where we could get to know him better. If you've been reading the blog since our last RV sojourn, you know that in 2014 we visited Jefferson Davis' last home near Biloxi, Mississippi. This was where Davis eventually went after his two years in federal prison once the war had ended.

"From Wikipedia I learned that "On May 19, 1865, Davis was imprisoned in a casemate at Fortress Monroe on the coast of Virginia. Irons were riveted to his ankles at the order of General Nelson Miles who was in charge of the fort. Davis was allowed no visitors, and no books except the Bible. He became sicker, and the attending physician warned that his life was in danger, but this treatment continued for some months until late autumn when he was finally given better quarters. General Miles was transferred in mid-1866, and Davis' treatment continued to improve."

"Varina [Davis' wife] and their young daughter Winnie were allowed to join Davis, and the family was eventually given an apartment in the officers' quarters. Davis was indicted for treason while imprisoned; one of his attorneys was ex-Governor Thomas Pratt of Maryland. There was a great deal of discussion in 1865 about bringing treason trials, especially against Jefferson Davis, but there was no consensus in President Johnson's cabinet to do so."

"There were no treason trials against anyone, as it was felt they would probably not succeed and would impede reconciliation. After two years of imprisonment, Davis was released on bail of $100,000, which was posted by prominent citizens including Horace Greeley, Cornelius Vanderbilt and Gerrit Smith. (Smith was a former member of the Secret Six who had supported abolitionist John Brown.) Davis went to Montreal, Canada to join his family which had fled there earlier, and lived in Lennoxville, Quebec, also visiting Cuba, and Europe in search of work. Davis remained under indictment until he was released from all liability by the presidential amnesty issued by Johnson on December 25, 1868."

The Jefferson Davis family lived in the Richmond Whitehouse from the beginning of the Civil War -- our guide today said -- right through to the end of the war when Robert E. Lee came to them and said that he could no longer defend the city and that the Davis family should move south.

Again from Wikipedia we learn that: "On April 3, with Union troops under Ulysses S. Grant poised to capture Richmond, Davis escaped to Danville, Virginia, together with the Confederate Cabinet, leaving on the Richmond and Danville Railroad. Lincoln sat in Davis' Richmond office just 40 hours later. William T. Sutherlin turned over his mansion, which served as Davis' temporary residence from April 3 to April 10, 1865. On about April 12, Davis received Robert E. Lee's letter announcing surrender. He issued his last official proclamation as president of the Confederacy, and then went south to Greensboro, North Carolina."

"President Davis met with his Confederate Cabinet for the last time on May 5, 1865, in Washington, Georgia, and officially dissolved the Confederate government. The meeting took place at the Heard house, the Georgia Branch Bank Building, with 14 officials present. Along with their hand-picked escort led by Given Campbell, Jefferson and Varina were captured by Union forces on May 10 at Irwinville in Irwin County, Georgia."

But today we got to see what life was like when the Davis family was the center of the Confederate world. The mansion we toured was constructed in 1818 and had gone through four owners before the city of Richmond bought it and leased it to Jefferson Davis. Unfortunately, the private non-profit that owns the property now does not allow photographs, but I can tell you that the interior is not ornate and gaudy as you might expect of a southern aristocrat, but was sumptuous and tasteful throughout. The interior consists of four floors, including the walk-in basement on the non street side. In Jefferson Davis' time the kitchen was a two-story structure out in the yard, but there was a space in the basement called the "warming room" where food could be reheated.

Jefferson Davis and Varina, had four boys and two girls and so there was ample space inside the four-story structure for children. Unfortunately, all four boys died young, as well as one of the girls. Except for one boy who died from a fall from one of the home's balconies, the rest of the children died from various diseases.

The most astounding fact we learned about the Jefferson Davis white house is that somewhere around 75% of the current furnishings are original to the house, even though all were auctioned off after the war. Only three items were left in the house that dated to the original owner/builder in 1818. These are two magnificent six-foot statues of the Greek figures of Comedy and Tragedy, as well as one marble fireplace mantle. Everything else was gone by the time the building became a school in later years.

Over time people have come forward with bits and pieces of the house's history, including a massive dining room table, a dining room sideboard, and Jeff Davis' favorite rocker. Our tour guide told us that as late as two years ago a matched set of large vases came back and now adorn the parlor. She also told us that were it not for a trio of influential and wealthy Richmond ladies, the house would have been reduced to rubble to make way for a newer building. The ladies bought the building from the city, then formed a private non-profit organization to see to its maintenance.

Nowadays, you can find a fabulous three story museum right next door to the Confederate White House. Here you will see, not just generic mementos of the war, but the actual property of famous Confederate leaders like Stonewall Jackson, Thomas Hunt Morgan, and J.E.B. Stuart (his desk and other property photo left). They even had Robert E. Lee's personal hat (photo below right), among hundreds of equally priceless heirlooms of the war. Although we didn't stay as long as we wanted, we certainly enjoyed ourselves in the museum. By the time we left, it was already getting pretty late in the day and we had to put a few miles on the rig before dark. Someday we'll have to come back to Richmond and do some further exploring of this fabulous museum.

Finding the museum is pretty easy, but parking can be the problem. As we approached Richmond we trusted out GPS to get us to Clay Street in the heart of old Richmond. And, as we rolled into the downtown area, it looked as though she -- the voice is female -- had done a fine job of guiding us to the correct address.

But alas, we were premature. As we got to Clay Street, the GPS announced that we needed to make an immediate left turn, and then we would arrive at our desired address. But two problems immediately presented themselves: first, there were two big red signs posted on the street corners that established in no uncertain terms the fact that no cars were allowed on that portion of Clay Street;

second, even if they had allowed cars, there was no way something as big as a thirty-one foot RV would be able to turn onto the street and find any parking, let alone turn around on what turned out to be a short, dead-end street.

Fortunately, I noticed the problems BEFORE I turned left, and instead turned right onto Clay, an impossibly narrow, but still navigable street that we used to drive a couple of blocks north where we found an largely empty parking lot capable of accommodating the rig.

Once we had parked we walked all over the lot trying to figure out if it was one lot, owned by one person whom we could pay in advance to keep from being towed, or several different owners. When we failed to ascertain with confidence that the one pay station off to the west of where we'd parked was actually meant for us, we still went ahead and bought three hours and stuck the receipt on the front window. As extra insurance, I hauled out the "Club" and affixed it to the steering wheel hoping that it might deter a tow truck driver. Then we gathered up our packs and cameras and set off.

The rest you know. We had a fine couple of hours exploring Confederate history, and when we hoofed it the four blocks back to the rig about 1:30 p.m., it was still right where we left it. It truly beats me that in this day and age of countless folks traveling by RV, why more cities seem to be oblivious to the need for substantially larger parking areas for said vehicles.

When we got back to the rig we had our lunch, yesterday's peanut butter backup sandwiches that we didn't eat in Williamsburg. Still, peanut butter and jelly and a great cup of coffee is what I love when I go hiking in Southern California, so the sandwiches tasted great to me today. Concetta didn't seem to mind them, either.

During lunch we picked out a camp near President James Madison's boyhood home of Gordonsville, Virginia. We put in the final disk of our five-disk set of international intrigue and set off. Before long we had eaten up the fifty miles or so, and were pulling into the camp, or so said Ms GPS. Trouble was, the gate guard wanted to know if we had a reservation. And if we didn't have one, he'd have to ask us to turn around and get the heck out of there. AND, he said, you had to have made the reservation online or with a specific off-property booking agency.

Well, this was the very first time we'd run into this sort of snooty behavior. But we dutifully pulled through the gate, turned around and left -- well, not quite left. We pulled just down the road and called the camp to see what in the heck was up. As it turned out, the camp had become a Time Share and only the owners and "guests" were allowed inside now. But, the lady on the phone said, if we'd take a gravel site instead of the posh concrete sites (which came complete with stainless steel barbecue grills) she'd be happy to rent us one for a measly $50.00 plus tax. If we were interested she'd call the gate guard and tell him to let us in.

Not wanting to disappoint the lady on the phone, I told her that would be fine and we'd see her shortly. Thereafter, the gate guard let us pass, we motored down to the "lodge," and I presented myself to the front desk lady, amid a slew of rather smartly-dressed vacationers. Initially I think she intended not to smile at me, so I had to pump up the charm level. Before I left she warmed a bit to me. In fact, she told me with as large a smile as she could muster, that she was giving me a campsite right on the lake if that was alright. I told her it was, and off I went fifty-three dollars and some odd cents poorer, but secure in the knowledge that I wouldn't have to be searching for a new camp this night.

My last stop before leaving the lodge was with Savannah, a perfectly charming young black woman who intended to try and talk me into gracing their morning tour designed for guests interested in buying a time share. I told her I would think about it, and she said she'd be calling me on the phone to encourage me. Savannah was the friendliest face in the room, which made me wish we needed a timeshare.

Our camp, as you can see from the photos, is located in what appears to be a currently little-used section of the mega-plex the time share folks are crafting here. The spaces are pretty good, though not quite up to modern standards, a condition I suspect they will remedy before long.

So there you are. Serendipity saw us through yet again, though this is the very first time we've had to crash the party to find a place to lay our heads. We started the day not knowing where we were going, traveled in a direction we've never traveled, through cities we've never visited, and arrived at a camp that doesn't cater to drop-ins, but where we got to stay anyway. I'd say things are just allllllright. Should you decide to take your act on the road, we wish you the same serendipity in your travels. And a great big Happy Travels to you!

Day 41 -- Colonial Williamsburg -- 12 Miles

Today we drove fewer than a dozen miles, but on the plus side, we walked -- according to Concetta's pedometer -- 12,769 steps. Dang! My feet certainly hurt tonight, but we just had a wonderful time touring Colonial Williamsburg. The hoped-for sunshine, which the weather report said we had an 80% chance of seeing, appeared sporadically all day long. I'm convinced that the sun was just trying to torture me. Usually it popped through the clouds and stayed just long enough for me to notice, whip the camera to my eye, swivel around looking to frame a shot of whatever was handy. But before I could find a good subject the yellow orb was once again concealed by clouds. I took 367 photos today and I bet no more than 5% were in sunlight.

The reason we didn't drive much today was because of the proximity of our KOA camp. The camp is pricey, but it has all the bells and whistles to attract every member of the family, from play yards for the kids, to a swimming pool. You can even buy your Williamsburg entrance tickets at the camp, which saves you about 10%

This morning the plan was to try and see all the craftsmen and women we'd missed last time, like the printer, and only re-visit shops we'd done before if we ran out of new things. Well, we didn't run out of new things for the entire day. We saw everything from the cobbler to the wheelwright, and from the weaver to the tinsmith. We saw a cabinet shop, a joinery shop, and a basketmaker. We didn't see any butcher or baker, but we did watch a few minutes of the candlestick maker.

In 2014 we desperately wanted to eat in a restaurant serving period food. After reading all the literature two years ago we decided on the "King's Arms Tavern." Well, let's just say we failed in that attempt and ended up eating some yucky food from a snack shop. This year we took the precaution of making a couple of peanut butter sandwiches to take in our day pack, but we were determined to eat at the King's Arms Tavern no matter what. This meant we had to show up before the doors opened and then insinuate ourselves into the group close to the door to make sure we were in the first batch called to enter.

The plan worked wonderfully. And, that wasn't all. To our astonishment one of the women waiting along with us spoke up when the girl wanted to know who had been there first and pointed to us. We were consequently the first people through the door. Amazing!

We were so glad that we'd made the effort to arrive early. We got a nice two-person table by a south-facing window looking out on the garden. Concetta ordered the pot roast and a glass of sparkling cider. I had the Northfolk Pottage Pie and a mug of nut brown ale. Just to be wild and crazy I ordered peppermint ice cream and black coffee for desert.

At first we were a little apprehensive about our seating location, because shortly after we sat down a whole troop of youngsters filed into the room directly opposite where we were sitting. There must have been eighteen or twenty of them. But to our undying gratitude, the chaperones with this particular group did a fantastic job and kept excellent control the whole time we ate.

After lunch I wanted our first goal to be visiting the print shop. We missed what is always my very favorite vintage business when we toured in 2014. That year we got to the shop so late in the day that the printer had locked up and gone home. I wasn't about to make that mistake again. Thankfully, the print shop was just across the street from the King's Arms Tavern, and we skipped right over there after our delicious meal

As you've read in these pages before, the years I spent as a printer count as my very favorite in all of my work history. There's just something about the creativity of it that captured me and won't let go. So, even though I will probably never work in a print shop again, I can't resist taking every opportunity to visit a working shop whenever one is available. In 1974 when I was working at Sierra Nevada Printing we had equipment that was nearly a century old. Today I figured we'd see printing equipment that would be at least a century older than that. I wasn't disappointed

Though the printer possessed quite a wry sense of humor, he was just a font of information about everything printing.

All the while he was talking he was printing page after page on his Ben Franklin-style, single-impression "press." In the chase was three pages of handset type. When the printer had applied ink to these lines of type with a couple of leather-covered daubers, he proceeded to push one sheet of fine book paper over a couple of registration pins to keep it in place, then he swung a frisket into place on the tympan to protect the paper where ink was not wanted, then he lowered the whole assemblage onto the bed of the printer called the coffin. After that he hand-cranked the bed under the platen, and pulled a couple of times on a heavy bar that cranked the platen down hard against the paper, forcing the paper against the inked type faces.

Once the printer had finished his signature of three book pages on the one sheet of paper, he carefully removed the sheet from the bed of the printer and layed it on a pile. The printing of the one sheet had taken about three or four minutes, including the inking of the type. Easy to see why it took so long to print anything in the 18th century. Then, while still explaining the printing process to Concetta and me and a few other folks who had wandered in, the printer started the process over again. Ben Franklin would have marveled at today's high-speed printing where they turn out 500 sheets in the time it took him to print perhaps a half dozen.

After the printing demonstration, we headed off in search of the cooper's shop and the brickyard. When we arrived at the cooper's shop we were impressed and surprised to see that the craftsperson in residence was a woman. Our visit was about to get really interesting. After questioning her about barrel construction techniques, Concetta couldn't stand it any longer and just had to ask her about the prevalence of women in the barrel-making business. During the course of her explanation, we discovered that she was originally from, of all places, Nevada City, California, just over the hill from where we live in Nevada.

Though we really didn't get to watch her make a barrel, we did learn a lot about how coopers made barrel hoops, what sort of wood they used to make the staves, and what sort of tools she employed to do her job, including a very large broad axe that I talked her into bringing out to the shop entrance to demonstrate how she used it.

After we left the Cooper Shop, we headed for the brickyard. Now, while we'd seen demonstrations on barrel-making before, we had never witnessed what went into brick making. This time we definitely got our money's worth. For the first time since we arrived in Colonial Williamsburg, we were actually watching the entire brick-making process prior to when the bricks get fired in the ovens. Since the newly-made bricks have to dry in the sun for several days before firing, we didn't get to see the oven part.

Everyone's favorite part of the brick process was when the apprentice got down in a large trough area and squished around with his feet to mix the water and clay to the proper consistency. Once that was done, the apprentice reached down and grabbed a "wad" of clay about the size of a volley ball, and took it to the master brick maker. Once the brick maker had enough clay on his table, then the apprentice would return to his side to assist in brick making.

The brick maker had a form that allowed him to make two bricks at once. Before handing the form over to the brick maker, the apprentice would "roll" the brick form in dry sand to make sure the bricks would release from the form at the proper time. Once the brick maker had the form on his work table, he would grab a ball of clay about the size of a large cantaloupe and plop it into one side of the form. Then he would repeat the process a second time. Once the clay was globbed into the form, he'd grab a brick bat and run it across the top of the form box. This removed excess clay.

At this point the apprentice would grab the heavy, clay-filled form and carry it over to the drying yard. Carefully, he'd roll the form upside down and the new bricks would land on the drying surface. Then the apprentice would go back for another load, first dusting the form with sand.

The master brick maker told us that right where we stood watching him make bricks, they had made literally thousands and thousands of bricks for the Williamsburg villege sidewalks, walls, and other restoration projects.

I kind of wondered how he was going to get red bricks for restoration work when the clay they were using was a yellow brown color. But he told us that when fired the clay tuned a soft redish color and the more it was baked the redder it got. Finally, if they really baked it a long time the bricks would come out nearly black.

By this time Concetta and I were beginning to get a little footsore, but we soldiered on and visited a wheelwright, a tinsmith, a blacksmith, and a leather goods shop. I took a bunch more photos, of course, but I'm going to have to call it a night at this point. suffice it to say, that Concetta and I were definitely in heaven here at Colonial Williamsburg. We just love all the cottage crafts that have spawned such wonderful experts. Tomorrow we're not certain what direction we will be headed. We want to go to Philadelphia and see all that great "birth of the country" stuff like the liberty bell. I'm also hoping that we'll stumble over Ben Franklin's print shop. So until next time, we wish you Happy Traveling!

Day 40 -- Appomattox to Williamsburg, Virginia -- 150 Miles

Today we traveled the Interstates between Appomattox and Williamsburg, Virginia, largely under a leaden sky, and didn't stop for much of anything. For most of the day the only sun we saw was for few moments at noon, when we had done our shopping at a Walmart in Richmond, and were just exiting the building with our shopping cart. But the sunny respite was brief, and we decided not to count on seeing it again.

On a brighter note, the forecast calls for an 80% chance of sun tomorrow for our visit to Colonial Williamsburg, so maybe we'll be able to snap a few photos of our adventures to show you. But today there just wasn't anything to shoot, and other then a couple of Civil War battlefield references along the Interstate, we didn't even see any points of interest to entice us into one of the many small towns we passed.

This evening we're staying at a beautiful but pricey KOA near Williamsburg, which might just turn out to be the nicest, most obviously well-run camp I've ever seen. Obviously, since this is the most expensive camp in which we've stayed this trip, I got to thinking about just what makes a great camp. I probably missed a few things, but here's the list that I came up with:

1. Lots of room between camp sites.

2. Ground-level sewer connections instead of needlessly elevated pipes.

3. Both 30 and 50 amp connections which are up-to-date and well maintained.

4. Either concrete or adequate gravel on entrance side of rig so you’re not stepping out on mud or wet grass.

5. Meticulously leveled sites whenever humanly possible.

6. Laundry facilities enough for at least three campers to be working simultaneously using three machines each.

7. An easy-to-use dump station with working flush water.

8. A well maintained picnic table and above-ground barbecue unit at each site.

9. Water spigot that extends far enough above ground so that you’re not down on your knees to hook up hoses.

10. Play area for children where feasible and supervision is possible.

11. A good supply of RV-related items in camp store so that most potential problems are addressed.

12. A good supply of grocery items so that minor food emergencies are addressed.

13. An easily-accessible propane filling operation for filling RV tanks, as well as the trained personnel to operate the site.

14. Easily-read site numbers.

15. No more than 20% of sites should be rented to long-term guests, or else the camp should state in the Good Sam book and other sources that camp sites might be severely limited because of long-termers. All long-term guests should be kept at one end of the park and made to keep their sites presentable.

16. Provisions for pets such as special exercise areas and plastic bag dispensers for waste. Also, laundry room should post sign asking that pet-related items NOT be washed in the park washing machines.

Okay, so the first item is sufficient room between camps. Just as it appears on my list, this item is very important to Concetta and me. Though your best bet for finding lots of room between your rig and the next guy's rig is to stay in state parks, if you do that you won't find many of the other items on my list.

We've seen all sorts of camp layouts in the last several years since we took up RVing, and space runs the gamut from incredibly spacious to so crowded you could almost hand your neighbor a cup of sugar without leaving your rig. We have only experienced this problem a few times, but the KOA in Grand Junction, Colorado is a good example. I think a minimum of twenty feet between rigs should be minimum, in our opinion, and twice that would be really, really nice.

The KOA camp where we're staying tonight near Colonial Williamsburg has about twenty feet between camps, possibly a bit more. There's sufficient room for a concrete or brick pad under a picnic table, as well as a barbecue grill, without making the sites feel crowded. Grass covers most of the space between sites. Of course a nice distance like twenty feet won't stifle sounds like running air conditioners, but it will dampen most other noises.

The next most important item I have listed is the need for a "ground level" sewer pipe in your campsite. Many, many, MANY camps install their sewer collection pipes so that they stick 8 to 10 inches above the ground. This makes it really difficult to get any sort of slope on your rig's sewer line as you run it from the exit pipe of your black and gray tanks over to the camp's in-ground pipe.

Every RVer knows about the standard scissors-style unit that you use to support your expandable plastic sewer line once you twist it onto the exit pipe on your rig. They come in both plastic and metal and allow you to establish a constantly-sloping gradient toward the camp's exit pipe. Without the gradient, water from your black and gray tanks will not effectively drain and might ultimately result in an embarrassing spill when you disconnect the line from your rig.

Sometimes when I'm unable to use the scissors support unit, I'm able to employ a couple of six-foot lengths of PVC rain gutter material. Supported at the RV end, and run towards the camp exit pipe, the gutters allow you to establish a gradient that is much steeper than the plastic or metal scissors supports can handle. These handy lengths of PVC should be in every RVers kit.

Next on my list is the power supply towers. You would think that if anything in a campsite should be up-to-date it definitely should be the power supply towers. But that turns out to be the case only about half of the time. Here in our KOA camp tonight the towers are in top notch shape. All the receptacles are new-looking and undamaged in any way. All the breakers work properly. And the lift-up door shuts properly. Plus, they park has provided a cable TV connection right on the power supply tower.

The very worst supply tower we've seen so far on this trip we found in a park just south of the Grand Canyon (photo left). There the guts of the tower were hanging out and I was truly reluctant to touch it at all. I'm not sure how they were getting away with such slipshod equipment, but later the clerk in the office told me the camp had been sold to a hotel chain and was about to be bulldozed. Not that such a safety violation would have kept them out of court if someone had gotten fried.

The biggest problem with power supply towers that I encounter is receptacles that are so old that the power cord from my rig will barely stay plugged. Were it not, sometimes, for the lid that swings down to cover the receptacles, I think the head of the cord would simply fall out.

Item number four is definitely a problem in many, many campsites. Camps simply don't make the spaces wide enough to accommodate both the rigs and the humans who need to exit the rigs. This is almost always a problem when they use expensive concrete. But even when they use cheaper gravel the camp owners still don't make the gravel wide enough. This means when you step out of your RV it's usually onto wet grass or even mud. And, if it's grass, they usually don't want you to use any pieces of carpet or matting you've brought with you as it kills the grass over time.

The best camps I've seen put a patio right next to the rig drive-up area so you can jockey the coach around until the door lies opposite the patio. The one I remember the best was a KOA in San Antonio, Texas. Their sites were gravel, and their brick patios were strategically located to make it easy to spot your door next to the brick expanse.

Here at the KOA in Williamsburg, we have a gravel site with a nice brick patio. So stepping out of the rig is great, but unfortunately, the gravel is too narrow which means when you step off the brick as you walk toward the front or rear of the rig it's onto wet grass. They really do try hard here to make your camping experience near perfect, but the spaces do need to be a bit wider.

Now to the leveling of sites. You would think that this would be the easiest part of any camp owner's regimen. Just tell the tractor jockey to make the darn sites level and you're done. But this turns out to be the case only about half the time in our experience. Though I don't really mind dragging out the drive-up blocks, it does extend both your set-up and break-down times another quarter hour or so.

As you may have noted in the past, I built my own drive-up blocks out of treated pieces of 2"x6" boards. I crafted the blocks in a three-level elevation change, which almost always lifts the rig as high as I need it. I made four of these blocks so that I could lift all four wheels in the rear, or I could lift both wheels in the front, and perhaps one set of the dualies in the rear if the rig was off level side to side.

Usually, if you're going to encounter a campsite that is especially out of level, most times it's going to be in a county-run facility where a minimum of money has been spent on site leveling. You may remember that we encountered this phenomena at a county-run site near Roodhouse, Illinois, where I had to lift the front end of the rig nine full inches off the ground. That particular time I not only used the drive-up blocks, but an additional stack of pieces of wood that I carry along for just such emergencies.

It looks like it's time for bed so I'll leave off finishing this tonight. Look back a day or two from now and I'll try and finish it. Until then, we wish you Happy Travels!

Day 39 -- Whthe to Appomattox, Virginia -- 160 Miles

Guess what. It rained today -- AGAIN! "Oh, well," we said as we heard the raindrops on the roof this morning, "we're just going to make as many miles as we can in the direction of Colonial Williamsburg, anyway. Who cares what the weather does?" And that's the way the day began. Before long, we were busy listening to a book on CD of some unbelievable international intrigue, and tooling up Interstate Route 81 at a solid sixty miles per hour in the slow lane Over in the fast lane the 18-wheelers were canon-balling by at much faster speeds, but we didn't care. Slow and steady wins the race.

Our goal for the morning was to navigate our way to Virginia Tech, the Alma Mater of Maja, our daughter-in-law, which the map showed was just an hour or so away from our evening campsite. Since the rain precluded everything from a leisurely stroll about the campus, to any decent photographs, we decided that it would be sufficient if we could just find the right town and maybe just motor up and down any campus roads that would accommodate the size of our rig.

This we quite successfully did. We found -- or more properly the GPS found -- the town of Blacksburg, Virginia, on the first try, and then we managed to navigate ourselves around the campus without obviously alarming anyone, nor getting ourselves stuck in some dead-end alley.

Well, at least we almost managed. It was when we were responding to a sign that said "Alumni Association" building that we came across another sign that promised a museum in the area that was dedicated to the Preston Family, Smithfield Plantation. According to the Museum's web site:

"Virginia Tech has agreed to protect the home that helped give the university its start – Historic Smithfield Plantation."

"The Virginia Tech Board of Visitors recently approved the acceptance of an historic easement that gives Virginia Tech the responsibility to ensure the historic nature of Smithfield Plantation, which was once home to the Preston family, whose land eventually became Virginia Tech."

"The Smithfield Preston Foundation will continue to operate the plantation, with its museum, shop, library, and other features. Virginia Tech’s Office of University Planning will regularly inspect the property and ensure that any changes maintain the historical nature of the building and property."

Okay, so you're wondering just why I would care about somebody named Preston and his plantation house, so here goes. My 2-times great grandfather, a chap named John Heath Preston Jones, derived his two middle names from a person or persons totally unknown to me -- or to anyone else for that matter. I've been trying to find out through my genealogical research who he might have been named after, but to no avail.

You're probably aware that in centuries gone by it was standard operating procedure to name your children, at least their middle names, after famous people in history. If you've studied your family tree, you know this to be true. In my opinion John's middle names were concocted from one of two sources. Either they were the maiden names of his mother and grandmother, or they were derived from famous people. Since he was born in 1811, any famous people would probably have become famous because of the American Revolution or similar significant event.

William Preston, for whom the museum was dedicated, wore a wondrous number of hats in his lifetime, including "...being elected to the Virginia colony's House of Burgesses in 1765 and serving in both the French and Indian War and American Revolutionary War. During the French and Indian War, William Preston saved George Washington's life from an impending Indian attack. He also played a crucial role in surveying and developing the colonies going westward, exerted great influence in the colonial affairs of his time, ran a large plantation, and founded a dynasty whose progeny would supply leaders for the South for nearly a century."

I've only recently begun researching Preston, but I feel that it's entirely possible that my 2-times great grandfather got one of his middle names from good ol' William. So, I was very excited when we saw the potential, not only for a nice museum on William's life, but perhaps a supply of research material so that I might find out more about him. We set off immediately to find the museum.

And that's where the trouble began. As we traveled down the already tiny road in pursuit of our quarry, the tiny road became more and more tiny. Then, just about the time I was beginning to have second thoughts about the efficacy of bringing a thirty-one foot rig down this strip of asphalt built for compact cars, we rounded a corner and discovered that the tiny road ended in an equally tiny parking lot. And that wasn't even the bad part, for the tiny parking lot was filled to overflowing with tiny compact cars.

We sat there and studied the problem for a time wondering just what to do. Off to our left, parked on a grassy slope that was NOT the official parking area, we saw two medium-sized school buses. On the south side of the buses there existed a small strip of grass about ten feet wide. I didn't think I could wedge the rig in there, even if I could turn sharply enough to get next to buses and not take out a section of fence that was just to our left.

Thinking perhaps that the museum folks would have been smart enough to anticipate something other than tiny compact cars wanting to visit, I went ahead and rolled on into the parking lot and seconds later stopped at the far end without finding so much as turn-around available so that I could reverse direction. The only thing I could do at that point was back up the way I had come.

This I did, fortunately without banging the sheet-metal of any of the tiny cars. When I finally had reversed enough so I was back adjacent to where the school buses were parked I decided that perhaps it would be better to find a way to use the tiny strip of grass next to the buses to make my turn, rather than attempt to back all the way down the tiny road on which we had arrived.

This was probably a mistake. For once I had turned onto the tiny strip of grass next to the buses, I immediately found that there just wasn't sufficient room. So I tried backing up, but behind us at that point was a grassy knoll about five feet high that I quickly planted the rear bumper against. On my left was the fence. On my right was a bus. Behind me was the grassy knoll. It looked like I was going to need a giant helicopter to lift us vertically out of the predicament.

Once upon a time we got ourselves in just such a predicament while trusting our previous GPS to guide us through Naples, Italy. Naples is not an easy place to drive in the first place, as there's a great deal of what looks like mass confusion going on at all times. The Italians are quite fond of funneling five roads down to one and then sitting back to watch the fun. There are hundreds of motorbikes, pedestrians crossing mid-block, and micro cars zipping in and out of everywhere.

But this particular time in Naples it wasn't our fellow motorists' fault that we briefly courted disaster, it was the fault of our trusted electronic navigational brain. We were trusting it to get us to the downtown Naples museum, and what the GPS did was send us down a very, very narrow alley with cars parked on both sides to that magic point that only happens in cartoons -- a dead end.

Once at the dead end I had the choice of reversing all the way to the alley entrance, about two blocks away, or to try and turn the car around somehow in a space about the size of an average living room. I set about moving six inches one way, then reversing six inches another, over and over, until finally I was able to reverse the car in the alley and escape.

And that's what we ended up doing in the tiny museum parking lot. We had about a foot to deal with. I would go forward until the front bumper kissed up against the fence post, then I would reverse until the rear bumper dug into the soft grass. Over and over again we made minute forwards and backwards movements until I had completely reversed the rig. Fortunately, no one came up behind us, or even tried to leave the museum parking lot, and only one of the school bus drivers even had any inkling of what we were up to. I'm sure that when the groundskeeper sees the divots out of the grassy knoll he is not going to be happy, but at least he doesn't have a five-ton rig to extricate.

At that point we decided that we'd had a nice visit at Virginia Tech, and it was time to get back on Interstate 81 and continue our trek towards Williamsburg. This we did for the rest of the morning until it was time for lunch. About lunchtime we happened to notice a sign for the Virginia Transportation Museum, and we decided that the museum sounded like a great place to stop for awhile, have some food, and get out and stretch our legs at the museum. It was still raining and the Transportation Museum might turn out to be our only chance for entertainment for the day.

Getting to the Transportation Museum was just a tad tricky, but we found it in the end. There was a huge parking lot adjacent, which initially looked good. But then we read the parking lot instructions that said, "Parking here is NOT free. Pay at the booth." We thought that was okay, but when I attempted to pay at the aforementioned booth, the instructions in no way seemed to accommodate anything that took up more than two spaces on a good day. In fact, the instructions said to put your car in a "numbered slot" and put coins in some antiquated gizmo that looked like it was installed just before Theodore Roosevelt took office. Since we had parked at the far end of the lot where there were no lines painted on the asphalt, let alone numbers, we decided to be civilly disobedient. Sometimes it just feels good.

After our lunch, we spent a very pleasant hour viewing all the transportation-related vehicles they had on display. Indoors they had everything from airplanes and cars, to model trains and bus-related items. Outdoors they kept the trains, of course. And there was a huge number of them. I didn't really see any railroad-related equipment that set my heart aflutter, but I did really like the car collection. In the airplane part of the museum they had a terrific section of the art of "barn-storming," which we both really liked. The best thing about the museum today was the price. They were having "Navy Day" there and all entrance fees were waived. In fact, when I mentioned to a young female docent, just as we were leaving, that I was a Naval Air Corp guy myself, I thought she was going to hug me at first, but settled for just shaking my hand.

Once we were back on the road, we chose Route 460 out of Roanoke and by 3:00 p.m. we had arrived in Appomattox Courthouse, at a camp that we already knew about since we stayed here in 2014. Right across the road from us is the Museum of the Confederacy, one of the most excellent museums in the country devoted to the Civil War. We've already seen it, but if YOU should travel to Appomattox, you should reserve some time to drop by there and enjoy. You won't be sorry.

Tomorrow, we will resume our drive to Colonial Williamsburg. The forecast is for rain again -- or maybe "still," but if we can get to Williamsburg tomorrow afternoon, the next day and Friday are supposed to be clear and sunny. We're keeping our fingers crossed.

So, until tomorrow, we wish you Happy Travels!

Day 38 -- Cumberland Gap State Park to Wytheville, Virginia -- 182 Miles

Today was a travel day by design, so we didn't have any intention of stopping anywhere. We hoped to reach Roanoke, Virginia, but as so often happens, that plan went by the wayside when we passed a "historic interest" sign around 2:00 p.m. which sent us heading off the Interstate and northward for 8 miles. By the time we regained the Interstate it was 4:00 p.m. and we opted for Wytheville, Virginia, for our afternoon camp, which was only 42 miles away.

All day long we cruised Daniel Boone's Wilderness Trail which runs along the southern border of Virginia where it meets the northern border of Tennessee. A good percentage of the time we kept to two-lane Route 58 as it wound its way up hill and down dale very circuitously through the Blue Ridge Mountains. There was barely enough room to drive the thirty-one foot RV on the ultra narrow roads, let alone stop anywhere to shoot photos. But it often broke my heart to miss so many beautiful vistas.

By noon we were approaching Interstate 81, and we had already figured out that we would need to jump on that divided highway for the balance of the day if we wanted to reach Roanoke by cocktail hour. Cruising the two-lanes is so very rewarding visually, but as far as making any real distance they're not so good. We picked out the little town of Bristol, Virginia, for lunch as it lay just adjacent to the interstate. Then, since we had not spent more than a very few minutes in Tennessee yesterday, we decided after lunch to take a side trip as far south as the town of Blountville, Tennessee, to check out its Old Town section which the guide book proclaimed was worth seeing. From Blountville we were able to jump onto the Interstate and head northeast.

About an hour later we came across the sign announcing the existence of a town called "Saltville," which lay only eight miles north of our route. Since we had such an incredible time on our salt mine tour in Kansas, we decided that we needed a break from battling the 18-wheelers about then, and we took the off-ramp and headed for Saltville.

Our trip to Saltville turned out to be VERY educational, much more than we would have predicted. Our destination in Saltville, as advised by the roadside sign, was the "Museum of the Middle Appalachians." Here, we found everything from an extensive rocks and minerals collection, to some nicely done Native American "woodland culture" depictions and artifact displays. They even had their own mounted fossil Mastodon, which towered over both of us.

But we found that the most incredible information we encountered involved Saltville's, well, SALT! From the museum's guidebook I learned that: "The town of Saltville dates back to 1753, the date that the very first land grant in the valley was issued in the name of King George II of England."

But the history of the salty area goes back much further, back some 14,000 years to when Woolly Mammoths, Mastodons, giant ground sloths, and musk oxen ruled the area. This was brought to light when Colonel Arthur Campbell was digging a well to extract salt in 1782 and found giant bones. The find was so interesting that Thomas Jefferson was contacted to come take a look. Jefferson would later write about the find in his 1785 book, "Notes on the State of Virginia."

Paleo Indians also were interested in the salt and their presence has been discovered dating back to the year A.D. 1000.

The Saltville historic period began in 1748 when the Patton Expedition -- that would later discover the Cumberland Gap -- made note of the existence of salt in the valley. One member of the expedition, Charles Campbell, applied for and received a patent on 330 acres which would later pass to his son William. William would later die during the American revolution.

Arthur Campbell, a cousin of William Campbell, was appointed guardian of the Williams family and estate, and he immediately began plans for commercial development of the property in Saltville. So it was that in 1782 Arthur began the first salt-manufacturing operation in the valley. Later family conflicts would cause this operation to be taken up by other family members.

But the greatest significance to all the salt in the valley was in 1861 when the Civil War broke out. Realizing that salt would be needed in huge quantities by troops in the field, both sides set about protecting their salt deposits and seeking to destroy the deposits of the other side. In this endeavor the North was highly successful. Through overland activities as well as seaborne blockades, the South saw its access to salt severely diminish as the war progressed. By 1864 only Saltville and very small operations in Alabama and Georgia were still being kept out of the hands of the Yankees.

U.S. Grant was perhaps the first Union General to realize that capturing the salt works at Saltville would severely cripple the South's ability to wage war. After becoming commander of Union armies in the west, he continually pleaded with his commanders in Kentucky and East Tennessee to capture the valley. But it wasn't until Grant had been made Commander of all Union armies in the field in 1864, that he planned a spring offensive against four targets, one of which was Saltville.

Three of the four targets, Richmond, Atlanta, and Mobile were successes. But the Saltville offensive failed, perhaps because it was the most heavily fortified objective in the Confederacy. A second attack was made on Saltville by Union forces in October of 1864, but it also failed. Finally, in December of 1864, Saltville was finally captured by Union forces.

I recently read a very fine book about the Civil War that I picked up on our 2014 trip to the southern states. I found it in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, where John Brown pulled his famous -- and unsuccessful -- raid. The book's title was "Starving the South," by Andrew Smith. Until I read that book I had always imagined that the Civil War had been won by a tiny core of genius-like commanders, brilliantly executed military maneuvers, and stoically dedicated soldiers. To a degree this was of course true. But equally important, as documented in Smith's book, was the fact that the war was lost by the southern Confederacy, not so much by losing on the field of battle, but being out-produced by northern factories.

Salt was just one of those commodities that Billy Reb could not produce in sufficient quantities to satisfy both civilian and military needs, and troops in the field would suffer for the lack of it just as much as they suffered from lack of sufficient weaponry, food, clothing, and a hundred other vital components of warfare.

So, our sojourn off the Interstate today was valuable and informative. I only wish we could have stayed longer. Unfortunately, we stayed until they were ready to close the doors, and then we had to say our goodbyes. The docent there, one Harry Haynes, was, as Concetta described him, more of a talker than me. But we two had some rousing conversations on genealogy and history of the area. Thanks Harry for a super time!

There was one small negative incident that we encountered as we were parking the rig near the museum. A set of low-hanging telephone wires snagged our crank-up antenna and nearly ripped it off the roof of the RV. We hadn't been using it anyway for the wiring from inside the rig to the outside connection had deteriorated so badly that it just rotted off. But now the whole structure of the antenna is severely "tweaked" and the darn thing will have to be replaced. Oh, well!

After leaving the museum we backtracked the eight miles we'd come north from Interstate 81, and then made our way east again until we reached the KOA at Wytheville, Virginia. I was rather astounded at the price they demanded, even with our KOA card, but it was already after 5:00 p.m. and I had no desire to look further. It's a nice park with expertly-done level spaces. There is lots of nice room between rigs, and I wouldn't dissuade anyone from coming here. Still, I think it's about $10.00 overpriced.

Tomorrow it's supposed to rain. Wow! What a surprise. We have plans to visit our daughter-in-law's Alma mater, Virginia Tech, just down the road from here. I suppose we won't need sun for that. Later, well, it's just over 300 miles or so to Colonial Williamsburg, and we're headed in the right direction. Since it rained on us ferociously in 2014, we're hoping for a day of sunlight this time. Cross your fingers.

So until we meet again, we wish you Happy Travels!

Note: Photos 2 and 4 are from the web as I was unable to shoot my own today. Photo 5 is from Amazon.com.

Day 37 -- Boonesborough SP Kentucky to Cumberland SP Virginia -- 117 Miles

Today, our intention was to just drive and put at least 150 miles on the clock before we chose a camp for the evening. If you've been reading this blog you know we've been averaging about a third of that total for the last several days. And, as fate would have it, we breezed through the first hundred miles without a single hitch, though we passed plenty of brown signs trying to lure us off Interstate 75.

About 11:00 a.m. we stopped for a Walmart shopping trip since we needed a couple of dozen items. After completing that job, we stopped for lunch in a Masonic Lodge parking lot just down the road. Then I thought we would do another couple of hours of driving and get a solid couple of hundred for the day, but just a few miles from our lunch spot we stumbled on the Cumberland Gap National Historic Park. Well, Concetta said she didn't know anything about the historic Cumberland Gap, and the part the Gap played in the settling of Kentucky and the lands west of the Appalachian Mountains. What could I say, we just had to stop and educate ourselves.

Our Cumberland Gap Museum and Visitor Center stopover turned to be very informative. They also had a small, but nicely-stocked gift section where I scored, in addition to a cool T-shirt, a copy of the book "John Floyd, The Life and Letters of a Frontier Surveyor," which I thought might help me understand how my Jones ancestors ended up in Kentucky after (or possibly before) the Revolutionary War.

We watched a nice film that detailed the history of the Cumberland Gap, Dr Thomas Walker, Daniel Boone, and other noteworthy men who were the first to pioneer what turned out to be the only viable land route from the original 13 colonies into the Kentucky wilderness.

From Wiki we learned that "The passage created by Cumberland Gap was well-traveled by Native Americans long before the arrival of European-American settlers. The earliest written account of Cumberland Gap dates to the 1670s, by Abraham Wood of Virginia."

"The gap was named for Prince William, Duke of Cumberland, son of King George II of Great Britain, who had many places named for him in the American colonies after the Battle of Culloden. The explorer Thomas Walker gave the name to the Cumberland River in 1750, and the name soon spread to many other features in the region, such as the Cumberland Gap. In 1769 Joseph Martin built a fort nearby at present-day Rose Hill, Virginia, on behalf of Dr. Walker's land claimants. But Martin and his men were chased out of the area by Native Americans, and Martin himself did not return until 1775."

"Daniel Boone first reached Kentucky in the fall of 1767 while on a long hunt with his brother Squire Boone, Jr. Boone's first steps in Kentucky were near present-day Elkhorn City. While on the Braddock expedition years earlier, Boone had heard about the fertile land and abundant game of Kentucky from fellow wagoner John Findley, who had visited Kentucky to trade with American Indians. Boone and Findley happened to meet again, and Findley encouraged Boone with more tales of Kentucky."

"On May 11, 1769, Boone began a two-year hunting expedition in Kentucky. On December 22, 1769, a fellow hunter and he were captured by a party of Shawnees, who confiscated all of their skins and told them to leave and never return. Since the Shawnee regarded Kentucky as their hunting ground, they considered white hunters there to be poachers. Boone, however, continued hunting and exploring Kentucky until his return to North Carolina in 1771, and returned to hunt there again in the autumn of 1772."

"On September 25, 1773, Boone packed up his family and, with a group of about 50 immigrants, began the first attempt by British colonists to establish a settlement in Kentucky. Boone was still an obscure hunter and trapper at the time; the most prominent member of the expedition was William Russell, a well-known Virginian and future brother-in-law of Patrick Henry. On October 9, Boone's eldest son James and a small group of men and boys who had left the main party to retrieve supplies were attacked by a band of Delawares, Shawnees, and Cherokees."

"Following the Treaty of Fort Stanwix, American Indians in the region had been debating what to do about the influx of settlers. This group had decided, in the words of historian John Mack Faragher, 'to send a message of their opposition to settlement.' James Boone and William Russell's son Henry were captured and gruesomely tortured to death. The brutality of the killings sent shock waves along the frontier, and Boone's party abandoned its expedition."

A few years later Boone would return with more settlers and would establish Fort Boonesborouh that we visited yesterday. By the 1790s the trail that Boone and his men built was widened to accommodate wagon traffic and became known as the Wilderness Road. Not only was Boonesborough one of the first American settlements west of the Appalachians, but before the end of the 18th century, between 200,000 and 300,000 Americans migrated to Kentucky by following the route marked by Boone.

Nowadays the National Park Service has blasted a tunnel through the mountains near the Cumberland Gap, which has re-routed auto traffic away from the historic route. Now, we were told by a very informative ranger today, that you can drive to one end of the wilderness road, park your rig, and then walk in the footsteps of Daniel Boone for six tenths of a mile. Since it was six tenths out and six tenths back,

and it was already three o'clock, we opted for NOT walking in Daniel's footsteps, at least today. Tomorrow may be different. And, if you have a small car, and not a 31-foot motor home, you can also drive to a hilltop vantage point to see the entirety of the old road.

We drove through three states today. We started this morning in Kentucky, dashed through a corner of Tennessee after our Museum visit, and stumbled over this absolutely wonderful forested camp in Virginia by cocktail time. We only got 117 miles today, far fewer then we had been anticipating. But the education we received made it all worthwhile.

In this particular camp, for which we paid $10.00, there is only electric available. A dump station is located near the camp entrance. There is no water other than what's in our own tanks. The best part is the effect of the dappled sunlight streaming through the leafy glades that surround us. It's absolutely stunning! Neighbors? Well the nearest camp is at least fifty feet away. The only sounds wafting towards us right now comes from a small group of folk musician campers who are playing their guitars and dobros somewhere off to the north of us.

I thought I'd show you the map that we have posted in the rear window of the rig showing all the states that we've crossed so far. Some states, like Oklahoma and Texas, only saw us for a day as we scooted across a corner. Other states, like Kansas and Kentucky, managed to keep our attention for nearly a week. I suspect since we only "kissed" Tennessee for a few seconds today, we'll need to cross the border again tomorrow and visit something over there, or my buddy, Tennessee Don will probably give me Hell.

So, until we meet again, maybe out on the road, we wish you Happy Travels!